Month: October 2016

I grew up in very strict, very conservative church, and my transition has been a point of contention with my religion, especially since the Bible is very clear about gender roles.

I will probably always feel like I’m sinning, especially since I’m now in a homosexual marriage. However, I am a man. God made me with more testosterone than most women. He may not have given me the biological equipment that he gives most men, but if he had, I would never have married my soulmate, because he was running away from his sexuality when we met. God also blessed doctors with the skills needed to give me the biological equipment I do not currently possess.

Doth not even nature itself teach you, that, if a man have long hair, it is a shame unto him? But if a woman have long hair, it is a glory to her: for her hair is given her for a covering. – I Corinthians 11:14-15

Growing up, my mother was very concerned about our hair. My sisters and I had to keep it uncut. I tried cutting it once and was told to repent of my sins. AB got around the rule by having our pet goats nibble the ends off her hair. Even when AJ got a round brush stuck in her hair, (she tried to use like a curling iron) Mama spent several hours loosing it from her long locks without ever needing the scissors. As I grew into my male self, I began to war with myself. Should I cut my hair or not? Anatomically, I’m a female, but otherwise, I’m a male. When I finally embraced myself as a man, I decided that, in keeping with my religious beliefs, I had to cut my hair, and it was the best decision I ever made. I’m growing happier and more confident every day.

I am at a loss for words, thoughts, or even emotions on the subject. I know i was scared for this moment to come, but why? What could they possibly do to me that they have not already done? They disowned me for marrying my soul mate. They made me feel like I was less than who I was because i did not fit their mold for a “normal girl”. I hated myself, but now, for once in my life, I am happy when I look in the mirror. I may not be normal. Who would want to be? I am proud to be uniquely me! I am no longer subject to their opinions!

But why do I feel like I am? Why do I even care about their opinions? After everything they did to me, what right do they have to even the tiniest piece of my love?

Yet that is my true issue… I love them, and all I want is for them to love me back…

The past couple weeks, I have begun the first leg of my transition journey, the mental stage. I have had to process a lot of thoughts, feelings, opinions, and more all at once. But one of the most crucial pieces to me has been selecting my new name. The meaning of names has always been an important piece of my life, and I have always derived some part of myself from what I have been called.

When I was born, my parents bestowed upon my female form, the title “The Victorious Woman Crowned With Laurels Standing Solid As A Rock”, a grand title for such an unassuming person. So for simplicity purposes, they nicknamed me, “The Traitor”, a title I languished under until I bestowed upon myself a new nickname at the age 13, “The Victorious Girl”. Unsurprisingly, my family made fun of my name change, and to this day, has continued calling me by the moniker that cursed my childhood.

As I approach my transition with a new mindset, I have searched for a name to fit the person I am growing to become. I considered naming myself after my father to continue the long standing family tradition of naming male children in my family, “The Son Of My Right Hand Crowned With Laurels Standing Solid As A Rock”. However, it was agreed that the moniker did not fit me, and that my very religious, conservative family might consider it an insult. I also considered, “Close Friend”, at a recommendation from a house brother, and while I am honored, it again was not for me.

It was after a lot of consideration that I finally settled on my new title, and I am proud to present “The Son Of The Heart And Soul Crowned With Laurels Standing Solid As A Rock”. Welcome to the world, Phares Loren Hutchison!

I can be most colorful and inventive when I am angry. – Christopher Moore, Practical Demonkeeping

Lately, life has been complicated, and I am slowly processing every memory, every thought, every experience, unfiltered, for possibly the first time in my life. I am drained, and still, life must go on.

Today, I was reading through one of my house brother’s blogs, and some of what he said made me think. It made me reexamine some things I said in my journey entry on August 26, 2016, and compare them to some things I said yesterday while angry.

One doesn’t generally look into mirrors when one is especially angry; one has better things to do, like pace the floor or throw things. – Robin McKinley, The Blue Sword

When one is angry, you say a whole slew of things you want to take back, but there is usually a grain of truth behind whatever you say.

Speak when you are angry, and you’ll make the best speech you’ll ever regret. – Laurence J. Peter

Snow and M were arguing over something that turned out to be a big misunderstanding, and guess who tried to jump in the middle and just made things worse? This guy right here, with his foot in his mouth!!! And while originally examining why I flew off the handle so quickly, I came up empty. I was in the right after all! Why should I apologize? But given a night of sleep and some time reading about others’ problems, I started remembering things I said a few months ago that Snow assumed were about him, and comparing them to the words I told him yesterday through angry FaceBook messages. Why did I think this way, and most importantly, did I actually think these things about him?

Looking back, all I can remember is how I felt time after time when Shaggy would call to tell me,

I’ve decided we need to break up because I want to date [insert whore’s name here] because she’s prettier than you.

Over five years of on again, off again, dating him, I heard that phrase ten times about ten different girls, and every time it would break my heart. But every time he would come crawling back, I honestly believed that no one else would or could ever love me. I was ugly and unwanted.

Fast forward to marrying my soul mate, the love of my life, and “they lived happily ever after”, that did not come for years, because every time I would turn around, he would be apologizing because he had cheated on me with some “whore with a computer” and did not know what to do when he was done with her. And every time I would forgive him and help him do whatever necessary to lose her, including packing up and moving ourselves half way across the country, but in the back of my mind I would be hearing Shaggy’s voice telling me that she was prettier than me.

Now here I am, in this Sanctuary, crying my eyes out, because while I love Snow and M, I do not honestly know if every time I get angry with them I will hear Shaggy telling me that M loves him more, that Snow is more attractive, that it is just a matter of time before I am yesterday’s trash. And that scares me!!! I want to form lasting and loving relationships with both of them, but I do not know if I will ever reach “survivor status”.

For those of you who don’t know me, I am a transguy preschool teacher at a private Christian preschool. Obviously, I’m a masochist. I go to work every day hiding my identity behind a smile, an androgenous haircut, and a skirt. When I come home, my disphoria is so bad I immediately change clothes no matter where I have to be or what else I should be doing. It takes a lot out of me.

But yesterday, I not only came home disphoric. I came home angry. There is a little girl one of our classes who is a bit of a tomboy. She prefers to play with the dinosaurs and cars, and she cannot stand to play with the other little girls. Yesterday morning, on the playground, I noticed that she was hiding behind a toy, refusing to play all. I thought it was strange, but as I am not the teacher for her class, I was not responsible for what she decides to do during free play. I wrote it off, until afternoon playtime. When her class came out to join mine, I noticed that she was back to her normal self, racing toy motorcycles with the boys from her class. I smiled as I watched her, remembering what I was like at her age.

Suddenly, I was ripped from my happy memories by the shrill voice of her teacher, calling her over. “Stop playing with those boys!” Her teacher said, “You will get hurt. Go play princesses with the girls.”

“But i don’t like girls.”

“Why not? You’re a girl. I’m a girl. Ms. Delia Jade is a girl.” I stormed off, furious. I wanted to correct her, I wanted to tell her how horrible of a person she was for telling this little girl that what she enjoyed was wrong because it didn’t fit her gender identity but I couldn’t, not if I wanted to keep my job.

I’ve worked in other Christian preschools where it was accepted for boys to play with baby dolls and girls to play with cars, but we got a lot of flak from parents. WHY?! Boys are going to grow up to be fathers, and girls are going to grow up to drive a car. They need these life lessons just as much as anything else I can teach them. Why do we try to shove children in specific boxes when each one is unique and different. They are all going to grow up to be different things. Why try to make them all act the same now? I am fed up with the current system, and I am so thankful my teachers were so supportive of me. Even when my mother refused to let me play with GI Joes, my teachers let me pretend to be the red Power Ranger, and that meant a lot to four year old me.

I spent most of Friday excited about my “promotion” at work, only to be semi-triggered by my great aunt, to the point that I ran away and hid in the middle of a family meeting. I embarrassed myself, but everyone’s reactions taught me something about them.

Yesterday, I was feeling particularly emasculated; so I tried to cling to every bit of masculinity I have. We bought more clothes, mostly in camo, and a new bookshelf, which I insisted on putting together by myself. M kept pushing me to let him help, and every time he asked, it made me feel even more emasculated. I was pushing away those negative thoughts as best I could, yet they were starting to overwhelm me. As my thoughts became more chaotic, my actions became less precise. I ended up smashing my middle finger with the hammer, hammering two nails incorrectly, slamming my elbow in a door, and kicking the bed frame as I became more and more agitated. M and I ended up in a screaming match, and I ran. My feet took me out the front door, and I just kept going. I was paranoid, kept hearing voices or feeling presences behind me. I heard a siren at one point and thought they were coming to take me back to the hospital. I ran faster. I calmed some when I thought I heard Snow behind me. He never caught up, and I later learned that he was never there, but it was comforting to think that he cared enough to keep an eye on me. Somehow I ended up back at the house, and I crashed in the spare bedroom. My dreams were chaotic, panicked, and dark, but I seem to be doing better today.

Today M and I have to go to his brother’s birthday party, and M’s mother told him that he has to come out to his father today. Otherwise she will tell Mr. Homophobe that his son is pansexual herself. It’s going to be a long day.